Qingdao deep

On a weekend hike, Brusie and I stumbled upon something neither of us had expected. We found a pair of man-made caves cutting deep into a small mountain range, Fu Shan, located behind Qingdao University.

Inspired, we rushed to an insane Fred Meyer-like store, clamored past the dried fish-clam-squid section and bought some headlamps. (This requires multiple store clerks, and several receipts stamped individually by other store clerks, which then must be handed to the original store clerks that give you another couple of receipts and, maybe, your purchase…the remnants of old school Communism).

Locals had told us the tunnels see little foot traffic nowadays, have various entrances, and serve as useful hideouts for current Chinese fugitives. Yes, fugitives. Not exactly what you want to run into when you are in a pitch black tube 500 feet below the surface.



Brusie and I assumed the Chinese were the ones who built the tunnels, perhaps during loony 1950s under Mao Zedong. However, this turns out not to be the case at all. The Chinese weren’t the ones who built the tunnels (well, the Chinese probably did most the grunt labor), but in fact it was the Germans.

An explanation as to why the Germans built the tunnels requires a somewhat detailed history lesson about Qingdao. Bear with me.

In 1897, Kaiser Wilhelm II (the same bastard that helped brew up World War I) wanted a military base in the Asian-Pacific. The Germans saw the Qingdao harbor as prime real estate. They took it from the Chinese without a shot fired, added to the Chinese military port already there, and built a network of fortresses and tunnels to protect any invasions from the land. Still today, German pillboxes, tunnels and forts sprawl throughout the hillsides and mountains of Qingdao.

The Germans were extremely paranoid another colonialist power would get jealous and take the city judging from how extensive the tunnels and fortresses are. Ironically, they weren’t concerned about the Chinese retaking Qingdao. The Chinese buckled after the invasion and offered the Germans a 99 year lease of the city.

It turns out the Germans were right to be paranoid. In the summer of 1914, soon after the start of World War I, the Japanese decided they wanted Qingdao. They joined with British colonial Indian forces and took the city after a nasty little battle. In fact, the first air battle in Asia was fought over Qingdao.

During their occupation, the Germans left a few marks on the city. The most important of which is good beer. Next is several buildings fit for Hansel and Gretel. And the last is the strange network of military outposts that Seabass and I so eagerly wanted to explore.


The first tunnel entrance was located on the north face of Fu Shan’s east peak. Chinese graffiti sprawled along the entrance walls. Inside, arched ceilings, seven-foot high black rock walls, and a five-foot wide path undulated though the darkness. Rusted rebar hooks poked from the walls every 20 yards or so and drainage pits and square-cemented wells reminded us to step cautiously.

We heard something up ahead.

“Bruiser, you hear that?” I said.

“Yeah, sounds like voices.”

Gulp.

Dim light and soft Chinese voices echoed around the upcoming corner.

Gulp.

“Ni hao.” Brusie said. No response.


With our eyes accustomed to our dim headlamps, the fugitives’ high powered flashlights in our eyes blinded us. The tension was thick as the Xi’an air. We were ready to fight for our lives.

Once they were upon us we could focus on a middle-aged man holding his five-year old son’s hand.

“Ni hao.” they said.

We laughed and sighed in relief. We arrived at a tunnel split, where, approximately 40 yards ahead, thin blades of sunlight cut the darkness. The light spilled through two laptop screen-sized windows, complete with blast covers that could be pulled up in an emergency. One window looked out to the south east and one directly to the south, both towards the Yellow Sea.

We retreated from the dead end of the first cave in search of the bigger cave which was rumored to have several entrances and numerous rooms.

If you were trying to crawl under your desk with cement rubble and exposed, bent rebar protruding everywhere, that would be what it was like to get into this tunnel. It looked as if at one time it was cemented off, then someone tossed a grenade and now its open for business.

After the three-foot high entrance, the tunnel opened up and was similar to the first tunnel we infiltrated. Cautiously winding our way up and down the black corridors, my mind wandered. We, still unaware that the Germans built the thing forty years before the first nuclear test, were assuming the Chinese had built it in case the Cold War went hot. (In fact, you can listen to our historical ignorance in the video.)

The uneasiness of my nuclear paranoia kept me on edge while we explored the maze of tunnels and their basketball court-sized rooms, unmovable cement doors, and concealed entrances. Little did we know that these caves saw real warfare. Germans and Japanese soldiers died in these mountains.


With a premature sigh of relief we decided to exit on the north face of the mountain. We realized in order to get to the other side of the mountain and to get home, we had to clamor our way up 60 meter shear rock face and hope it was easier to get down on the other side.

We crested the peak in the late afternoon. The scramble down was easier than anticipated and our stomachs were growling more than we anticipated. We stopped by a local restaurant, guzzled 30 cent beers, feasted on $2 entrees, and began to plan our next adventure.